B.G., “Long Time Coming” (Originally Published December/January 2013)

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Behind the bravado, the drugs and pills took their toll. A couple seizures put him in the hospital. In online videos and interviews, there’s the slurred speech, the habit of repeating every other sentence—a half-conscious swagger that’s become something of his calling card.

“His style, his swagger, everything he rapped about, he lived,” says Chopper City’s 13th Jigg. “Some rappers make things out to be a fairytale. But not him. He lived it. He embraced it.”

At the time, it seemed simple. Show up, preach what you know, enjoy the ride. Money, cash, hoes. The streets of New Orleans stayed bloody, the dope game busy. More material for rap songs.

“I know y’all think that I’m ignorant, I’m just a gangsta for real,” he raps on “Guilty By Association,” his 2010 song based on his federal case. “This is chess not checkers, I’m a thinker for real.”

For years, the so-called Hood General, the self-proclaimed Heart of the Streets made it clear: This is real, this is me, this is gospel.

Unfortunately, the authorities felt the same way: It was real, non-fiction, and illegal. “The gangsta as a counter culture hero is a pathetic myth,” says U.S. Attorney Jim Letten, the man who would eventually put B.G. behind bars for a long time. “These guys who live these lifestyles, who live to kill and deal drugs, basically live like dogs. They live in fear. They hide. And they end up in jail or dead.”

On November 3, 2009, he was in the back seat of a stolen Chevy Tahoe with two members of his entourage in the front. The cops pulled them over, and then pulled three pistols and a bottle of pills from the truck. Demounde Pollard, 18, told the officers that the guns were for protection, since someone had recently tried to jack Dorsey “outta his jewelry.”

Dorsey remained free while his co-D’s sat behind bars—a lucky break for him, it seemed. But it would prove his downfall.The other two called him from the jailhouse phones, routinely screened for confessions of crimes and other prosecutorial bait. As the feds listened in, it eventually became clear: Dorsey and his friend, Jerod Fedison, had pressured Pollard to sign a false affidavit taking ownership of the guns. Dorsey distributed cash and arranged for Pollard to get out on bond. Pollard eventually pleaded guilty, as did Fedison. By then, a pattern had developed.

The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives (ATF) realized a similar scenario happened months earlier. In June 2009, an aspiring rapper from Houston, Kentrell Washington, got caught with Dorsey and another man in a car in New Orleans. Cops found weed in the car and a gun under Dorsey’s seat. Washington pleaded guilty, took his charge and got a lengthy sentence. An unknown donor paid for his attorney, the same one that had previously represented Dorsey.

Years later, Washington wrote to the judge, swore the gun wasn’t his, and that he got aligned with lawyers who didn’t have his best interest at heart. But it was too late.

Since 2009, the fed’s investigation expanded. Within the many jail calls recorded by the feds, Dorsey allegedly plotted a murder with his partners.

During one call, according to court fi lings, Dorsey talked about how he and a man named Walter Porter tried to shoot down two foes in a drive-by. Porter replied that Dorsey was too messed up on drugs, his reactions too stunted. Had he slowed the car, he said, Dorsey could have been killed by retaliatory fire. Porter wanted to make sure his longtime pal would live to rap another day.

Dorsey’s connections to Porter and other local gangstas became an issue in court. Prosecutors, lobbying for an increased sentence, showed the judge video posted to YouTube in 2009 in which Dorsey looks into the camera and touts his love for the city’s most well-known killer. “Free my nigga, Telly Hankton, ya heard me. One of the realest niggas in the city.”

Hankton, convicted of one murder already, was indicted in late October with 12 associates, including his mother, in a sprawling federal racketeering and conspiracy case—the kind used to prosecute large gangs and the Mafia.

The indictment portrayed Hankton and his family as the biggest, most violent group the city has seen in decades. Federal investigators said they moved hundreds of kilos of cocaine, heroin and marijuana. They allegedly were behind several killings.

Hankton’s murdered cousin, George “Cup” Hankton, was legendary in New Orleans. A well-known reputed drug trafficker who was arrested but never prosecuted in connection with three murders, Cup was closely aligned with Cash Money co-founder Baby and several rappers, according to a police report and other sources. Cup’s killing in 2007 prompted Telly to kill the supposed shooter.

Telly Hankton’s supposed hitman was B.G.’s pal and jail call confidante, Walter Porter. Porter allegedly took $10,000 to kill a witness set to testify against Telly Hankton. Federal agents said Porter tried, but failed, and ended up killing that witnesses’ brother.

In the video, Dorsey talks more of Hankton. “They hating on him right now. You know what I’m saying, they got him all over the news and shit, ya know. Witnesses come up dead and shit. Man in jail. He post a million-dollar bond. Now they don’t want to give nigga another bond because they know the man gonna make the bond.”

At this point in the video, Dorsey turns from the camera and shouts to Porter, who is sitting nearby in a truck.

“Say, Moonie,” Dorsey shouts to his friend by his nickname. “You know what it is baby, you heard me, it’s all good in the ’hood.” Porter grins and yells back. “Free my dog Telly,” Porter says. “Let him go. Y’all can’t stop him. He didn’t do it!”

From behind the glass, Dorsey shakes these connections off . He says he and Porter grew up together and remain close. As for Telly Hankton, “We knew each other from the neighborhood,” Dorsey says. “But that’s it.”